Vindicated
by Stephane Richer
Summary: So turn up the corners of your lips, bite down and feel my fingertips, chase the moment for forever.


Vindicated

Disclaimer: I don't own either Bisco Hatori's manga _Ouran High School Host Club_ or Dashboard Confessional's song "Vindicated".

He's like a wind chime. He swings and sparkles just out of reach, the laugh tinkling but never quite reach his eyes. Perhaps that is why he so fascinates Kyoya. Just when he thinks he's got Kaoru pegged as something—obedient younger brother, half of a whole, potential host, just another poseur, doomed to unrequited love, surprisingly competent assistant, confidant, close friend—he turns to something else. Perhaps he's some kind of polymorph sent by a higher power to tease and vex, but why would they choose Kyoya? He's got enough on his plate without some kind of distraction.

Yet, this distraction seems magnetized to him and him alone, unfortunately. He'll finally be really concentrating and the redhead will pop up out of a wormhole from some other dimension, driving any possibility of getting anything done, ever, away like a racecar driver. Needless to say, this is not good, not at all.

How could Kyoya Ohtori, the determined third son, self-taught master of everything, praised for his genius organizational skill, held to some ridiculously high standard, trip over someone like this and fall to the point where he cannot get up? How can this be his downfall?

Somehow, he's enjoying it. He probably wouldn't have won, anyway, and at least now he's got something even as the world he dreams of slips from his hands.

His hands are full of Kaoru's, small but strong and firm, gazing hesitantly into those golden eyes. A smirk is volleyed back at him. Somehow, Kaoru's known all along, hasn't he? He really is more than Kyoya's ever been willing to give him credit for.

"This is all your fault," Kyoya murmurs as he runs a finger along the other's jawline. "You seduced me."

"Nah, you and your mystery person—ahhh!" he gasps as Kyoya's finger ghosts over his ear, dissolving into incoherently blissful squeaks as Kyoya handles his ears as if he were a cat.

"No, it's all you."

They're both contrarians, in denial as they seem more and more right for one another. For them, belligerence is synonymous with and varying directly with love. The closer they are, the more they fight over the most trivial things. Any excuse for making up (which, as one of the few things they can agree on, is one of the best parts of any relationship), for little gifts and for apology sex, is taken up. Neither one is innocent; neither is guilty. Neither really cares—it's all just part of their little routine.

Even when they're not together ("Oh, they're pretending to be single again?" Haruhi grumbles with a disturbing regularity) they still are—flirting with random strangers, waiters, heiresses, friends, being incredibly passive-aggressive ("Yeah, they're just like a couple of middle-school girls," Mei replies to Haruhi every time) until one of them snaps (usually, to Kyoya's delight, it's Kaoru, though he has held up remarkably well on some occasions—he's probably giving in because it makes Kyoya happier, or at least that's what Hunny remarks to Mori as he pops another cupcake into his mouth) and they disappear to who-knows-where (well, once Tamaki discovered them under a table on his patio and cried for a week about "how terribly incestuous Mother is being with her own son," confirming of Haruhi's theory that he used the "club-as-a-family" as a coping mechanism) and everyone breathes a sigh of relief because for the next while ("at least two weeks this time," Hikaru mutters to Renge, who shakes her head and replies, "eight days, max") they'll be (relatively) happy.

It really is a stupid charade, but everyone's got to be stupid about something, and it might as well be love because that's the area Kyoya knows he's never been any good at. His sister loves him, sure, but his parents and brothers never did. Tamaki loves him, too, but Tamaki loves everyone. Love is something Kyoya doesn't take lightly—and Kaoru doesn't, either. He has parents and a brother who love him, but he's not really their first priority anymore. So here they are, stealing moments, days, weeks, until they have to cool it because they don't know where to go. They don't have any clue what they're doing; they're both afraid. And Kyoya doesn't mind. It's easier to be afraid when you're afraid together, and it's easier to feel okay about someone only accepting your emotions tentatively when that's the manner in which you're giving them.

He's okay with this perpetual nothingness, this vicious cycle, at least for now, because this is something he cannot control and will not even try to. He cannot plan for the future, because there may be none. Someday, perhaps, one of them will snap for good, never snap back, and they'll break up for real, and someday, perhaps, they will fully open their hearts. Or maybe neither one will happen. So he works towards his other goals and lets himself be carried by the current and slip away.

They've never actually said, "I love you." What's the point when you can feel it in the air around them, smell it on their sweat, when they can bite it off of one another's tongues? Neither one has ever been fond of pointless things, token gestures. They've grown up around emptiness, isolated in their own minds yet without a real identity.

Hold me, love me, stay. He thinks them every night they are together, and never says them. He cannot scare off his little cat, cannot even call him that as he scratches the other's ear again. He wants to, very badly, but—no. The time is not right for that, and he can only drape his arm across Kaoru's chest and feel the warmth of the heartbeat, perhaps to keep him here for another few seconds. It's worthwhile, definitely.

Kaoru's hand rests over Kyoya's, caressing it. For now, he wants to stay, and now is enough.


End file.
